


One Minute (We're Out of Time)

by orphan_account



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Age Difference, Brief Hank/Marie mention, M/M, Short, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 21:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2556299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place during 3x10, "One Minute", after Hank beats up Jesse. When Mr. White visits Jesse to offer him another 50/50 partnership, and Jesse turns him down, Walt shuts him up the only way - the best way - he knows how.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Minute (We're Out of Time)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters portrayed, nor do I claim to. All rights go to the creators of Breaking Bad.

“Why would you want me, huh? You said my meth is inferior, right? Right? Hey! You said my cook was garbage! Hey, screw you man, screw you–”

Aggravated by Jesse’s defensive, emotional monologue, Walter did the only thing he could do; he crossed the distance between them, his footfalls echoing hollowly on the hospital linoleum, and he kissed him. Fleetingly, once, on his battered and bruised forehead, with his broad, strong hands cradling the boy’s prickly face, and then – then his lips hovered over Jesse’s cracked, dry ones, hesitant. There was a long, pregnant pause, and time seemed to stand still. Jesse’s one good eye, its distinct electric blue colour faded by the sickening hospital fluorescents, widened in shock and his jaw dropped. Walter could feel the younger man’s cool breath on his skin. The only sound that punctured through his reverie was the faint, rhythmic beeping of medical equipment in the background. That, and the frantic thumping of his own heart.

Across town, Marie assured her husband, Hank, that it had been muscle memory. Your body reacts to a situation before your brain can, and you can’t be blamed for your own actions, she said, because it wasn’t your fault.

Jesse reacted; he kissed him back. Gently, softly, brokenly, he kissed him, and the world fell away. It fell away, and all that was left was Walt’s lips, his disgusting, old, chapped mouth and the angry, searing sensation, like fire, that it ignited in the pit of his stomach.

After several moments of awkward teeth-bumping and sloppily intertwined tongues, their mouths broke apart, connected still by a slim, tenuous string of their mingled saliva. Walter’s eyes followed Jesse’s trembling, rosy lips with a frightening intensity before leaning forward to capture them in his own again.

Jesse’s ever-present stubble grazed Walter’s cheek as they moved together, as one, their kiss so much more cohesive now, as if they knew each other from the inside out. Walt revelled in the smell, in the taste, in the feeling of the younger man melting beneath him as he slid a hand under his thin, hospital-issue gown, around the boy’s waist to grasp desperately at the dimples in his back, at the same time running his calloused fingertips over the prominent vertebrae of his spine. Every inch of Jesse’s body tingled, sparked with electricity, like Walt was zapping him with a thousand volts at every touch.

A broken hospital fluorescent flickered above them, its dull light fading in and out of existence, twitching as Jesse did, every nerve in his body set aflame.

His mind swam; he was putty in Mr. White’s forceful hands, and though, to some tiny, miniscule, almost-but-not-quite silent part of him, this seemed wrong, sick, twisted – _The dude’s old enough to be your dad, yo, what are you doing?!_ – he couldn’t help himself. He _needed_ Mr. White, needed _this_. He was so hungry, so starved for affection. What had he said? “Ever since I met you, everything I ever cared about is gone! Ruined, turned to shit, dead, ever since I hooked up with the great Heisenberg! I have never been more alone!” That tiny part was nagging, persistent, sure, but it was all but drowned out in the _other_ part, the infinitely larger one, the one that screamed and shouted and stamped its feet for Mr. White to be closer, to never stop touching him, to take him and claim him and leave his mark, to brand it into his skin so deeply he’d never forget that he had once been wanted. After all, what was a difference of thirty years, give or take, in the face of never-ending loneliness?

Walt pushed the beaten-up blonde into his pillow, the springs groaning in protest as he half-climbed, half-collapsed into his lap. Jesse’s cheeks were flushed, the youthful, glowing pink of rushing blood beneath skin mottled by his ugly, multi-coloured bruises and scrapes. He tentatively rested his hands on the older man’s waist as Walt pushed against him. It was at this moment, just as Jesse began to return Mr. White’s advances with equal vigour, every inch of him aching for release, for the hole bored through his core to be filled, that he felt a stout, rigid, hard something press against his inner thigh – and that they heard footsteps in the hallway outside.

Neither was sure who pulled away first. Once they were apart, Walt opened his mouth briefly before shutting it again, like a guppy, as if he were about to say something then quickly thought better of it. He reached for the doorknob, hesitated again, and then: “Your meth is good, Jesse.” The door swung shut behind him as he left, leaving Jesse’s lips burning, though with revolt or with lust he wasn’t sure.

Jesse waited several moments, staring blankly at the door in utter disbelief. He combed his fingers angrily through his already-mussed hair angrily, impulsively, choking back a prolonged sob as he balled his now-trembling hands into fists. “Fuck!” he shouted, his voice breaking on the single syllable.

Shaking, he wiped his lips with the back of his hand and spat into the wastepaper basket beside his bed.


End file.
